igO ' LETTERS FROM THE
prevail upon myself to sit down and write a single
line till now. I have done everything to dissipate
my blue devils, and have actually rushed headlong
into Us fureurs du Carnaval, pour me distraire.
You will compare me to Prince Bourdon, qui
ne faisait plus que ses quatre repas par jour; but it
is true that with le trait de la mort dans le cceur, I
have been en parties de plaisir in the Bois de
Boulogne, at dinners and balls: c'etoit danser sur
la guillotine. It was a long time before I durst
open yours, which arrived to-day, for fear it should
be a testament de mort; but, thank God, it has set
my heart at rest.
I live much with Madame de Maulde and her
daughters. We agree very well together. I was
with them at the ball at the " Lyc6e des Arts,"
which is held in the cirque, underground, in the
middle of the Palais Royal. There was an abun-
dance of dust, horrid smells and bad company.
To show you how merrily we Parisians live, to-day
is the beginning of a fete or dejeuner au Bois de
Boulogne; then a concert in Paris, a diner ambigu,
and a ball which is to cost a couple of thousand
pounds, given by M. and Madame d'Angrelau. She
is a daughter of Peron's, the builder. Her husband
was a chocolate-maker at Versailles, and has by
the Revolution made an immense fortune, having